Wolf Shadow (12 page)

Finding a place in the shade, he watched her cut thin slices
from the venison she had quartered the day before. The strips were about as
long as her arm, perhaps three hands wide. When all the strips were cut, she
would arrange them over the drying rack beside the lodge. The rack was a long
pole suspended on two sturdy forked poles which were high enough to prevent the
dogs from jumping up and stealing the meat. Young boys sometimes grabbed a
piece of meat and ran away with it. Chance remembered doing it himself a few
times. He also remembered the day he’d been caught by one of the women. She had
given him quite a thrashing, but it hadn’t stopped him from doing it again. The
women never had to worry about the girls. The girls knew what happened to the
boys who got caught!

When the meat was thoroughly dried, it would be cut up and
stored to be used as needed. Some of it would be pulverized, mixed with fat and
made into pemmican. Dried cherries or grapes were often crushed, including pits
and seeds, and added to the mix. It made a sweet treat.

Winter Rain bent over her task, all too aware that Wolf
Shadow was watching her every move. What was he thinking? Why didn’t he go
away? His nearness and the heated look in his eyes made her nervous. The knife
in her hand slipped and she cut the side of her hand.

With a yelp of pained surprise, she dropped the knife.

Wolf Shadow was at her side in an instant. “Here, let me
take a look at that.”

He picked up a waterskin lying nearby and rinsed the blood
away, then dried her hand with a corner of his clout.

“Is it bad?” she asked, trying to see around him.

“No. Wait here.”

He ducked inside Blackbird-in-the-Morning’s lodge. Returning
a moment later, he wrapped a strip of cloth around her hand and tied off the
ends. “You’ll be as good as new tomorrow.”

She looked up at him, her gaze meeting his. There was no
denying the attraction between them. It was always there, simmering just
beneath the surface. He might have kissed her, and she might have let him, if
Blackbird-in-the-Morning hadn’t chosen that moment to step outside.

Wolf Shadow went back to sitting in the shade and Winter
Rain cut up the last pieces of venison and began hanging them on the rack to
dry. Blackbird-in-the-Morning nodded approvingly, then found a place in the sun
and sat down.

And now there were two people watching her. It made her
self-conscious but there was nothing she could do about it. She couldn’t very
well tell Wolf Shadow to go away, not with Blackbird-in-the-Morning sitting
there, watching. After all, Wolf Shadow was supposed to be her husband.

Winter Rain placed another strip of venison on the rack,
felt a sudden catch in her heart as she remembered all the times she had helped
her mother do this very thing. It had not been work then, with the two of them
sharing the task. Tears stung her eyes. She had to escape from this place, had
to go back and find out if her mother and father were still alive.

She glanced over her shoulder at Wolf Shadow. The gash in
his head was healing, as were the shallow cuts the Crow had inflicted on him.
In a day or two, she would ask him to take her away from here. He wouldn’t
refuse, she was certain of that. If he stayed, he would have to fight Short
Buffalo Horn. Surely he wouldn’t want to take a chance on losing. Surely he was
as anxious as she to get away from their enemies.

And then a new thought gave her pause. If they ran away from
the Crow, there was nothing to stop him from taking her back to the
wasichu
who claimed to be her mother and father.

She reached for another strip of venison. She would take her
chances with Wolf Shadow, she mused as she laid the meat over the rack. After
all, she had a better chance of running away from one man than from a whole
tribe!

* * * * *

The next few days passed peacefully, giving Chance ample
time to recover from his wounds. Now, resting against one of the backrests he
had made earlier that day, his gaze lingered on Winter Rain. She had served
them dinner, first the old woman and then him, before she filled a bowl for
herself. She had glanced at him frequently while they ate, almost dropped her
bowl when Blackbird-in-the-Morning tapped her on the shoulder to ask for more.
They had talked several times about escaping from the Crow, but as yet had made
no definite plans. Blackbird-in-the-Morning was a decent sort, but he didn’t
want to be a prisoner—hers or anyone else’s—nor did he want to fight Short
Buffalo Horn to see whether he lived as a slave or died a nasty lingering
death. Neither option was particularly appealing. Soon, he thought, it would
have to be soon.

Feeling restless, he rose and left the lodge. Standing in
the gathering dusk, he glanced around the village. Crow life was similar to
that of the Lakota. If there was meat in abundance and a warrior was not
engaged in a war party or taking part in a ceremony, he would most likely be
found in his lodge, perhaps repairing his weapons, perhaps merely sitting idle.
In contrast, the women, Crow or Lakota, never seemed to have idle time. If they
were not mending or making clothing or moccasins, gathering wood and water, or
caring for their children, they were probably tanning a hide, drying meat, or
making pemmican.

Like Lakota girls, Crow girls played with dolls, emulating
their mothers; Crow boys played with toy bows and arrows. When they grew older,
the girls cared for their younger siblings and learned housekeeping skills; the
boys hunted rabbits and deer and the buffalo and learned the art of war.
Sometimes a warrior would bring a buffalo calf back from a hunt and give it to
his children, who would either pretend to hunt it, or ride it. Older boys
sometimes went looking for orphaned calves after a hunt. They killed them with
arrows, brought the meat home, and gave the skins to their girl playmates to
use for coverings for their toy tipis or clothing for their dolls.

It seemed that, at least for the time being, the Crow were
at peace. Chance wondered again how many Lakota had survived the attack. He
wondered if there were enough warriors left to form a war party, wondered again
if his cousin’s family had survived the attack.

It was full dark now. Chance heard women calling their
children to bed, saw small groups of men standing together, talking and smoking
before they turned in for the night.

He was about to go back inside the old woman’s lodge when he
saw Short Buffalo Horn striding toward him. The warrior stopped a few paces
away, his gaze moving over Chance the way a cowboy might look over a horse he
was thinking about buying.

Tonight, Chance thought. If they were going to make a run
for it, it would have to be tonight.

Chapter Ten

Chance took Winter Rain aside that evening after
Blackbird-in-the-Morning had gone to bed.

“Tonight,” he said, careful to keep his voice pitched low.
“We’re leaving tonight.”

“Tonight?” She looked up at him, her eyes wide. “But how? We
have no horses, no food.”

“Short Buffalo Horn gave me the once-over a while ago. He’s
tired of waiting. We’re leaving tonight. Gather up whatever food you can find.
I’ll take care of getting the horses. Just be ready.”

She started to say something, but he didn’t give her time to
argue. Instead, he left the lodge.

Standing in the shadows, he glanced up at the sky. Wakan
Tanka was smiling down on him, he mused. Dark clouds were gathering overhead,
shutting out the moon and stars. A good storm was just what they needed. There
would be no moon to betray them; the rain would quickly wash out their tracks.

With the inborn patience of a hunter, he squatted down on
his heels and waited.

Winter Rain moved about the lodge, quietly packing one of
the
parfleches
with pemmican and strips of dried venison. She rolled her
sleeping robe into a tight cylinder and tied it closed with a strip of rawhide.

She glanced around the dark lodge. Stealing from
Blackbird-in-the-Morning made her feel guilty. The old woman might be the enemy
but she had been kind when she could have been cruel.

Winter Rain glanced at the doorway, her head cocked to one
side. Was it raining? Tiptoeing to the entrance, she drew back the flap and
looked out. It was dark, so dark she couldn’t even see the lodge across the
way.

Ducking back inside, she sat down to wait for Wolf Shadow.

She didn’t remember dozing, but she woke with a start, panic
overtaking her when she felt a hand over her mouth.

“Shh, it’s me.”

Relief washed through her at the sound of Wolf Shadow’s
voice.

“Let’s go,” he whispered urgently.

Rising, she grabbed the
parfleche,
the waterskin, and
her sleeping robe and followed him out of the lodge, her heart pounding wildly.
What would the Crow do to them if they were caught trying to escape?

It was still raining, and so dark she could scarcely see
Wolf Shadow even though he was right in front of her.

He led her through the sleeping camp, tossing bits of
venison to the dogs they passed to keep them quiet.

There were two horses waiting for them when they reached the
river. In a flash of lightning, she saw that Wolf Shadow had somehow managed to
get not only his stallion but his saddle and saddlebags, as well. A second
flash of lightning showed a body sprawled face down in the mud. One of the
sentries, she thought, as Wolf Shadow lifted her onto the back of the second
horse.

“Wrap that robe around you,” he said. “It might help to keep
you dry.”

He took the
parfleche
from her and tied it to the
horn of his saddle, then swung onto his horse’s back. “We’re going to cross the
river while we can,” he said. “If the storm keeps up, we might not be able to
cross it later. If we get separated, follow the river downstream. Sooner or
later, it will take you to a town. Understand?”

She nodded; then, realizing he couldn’t see her, she said,
“Yes, I understand.”

“Let’s go.”

She glanced at the fallen Crow as they rode by. She felt no
pity for him. He might be one of the warriors who had attacked their village.
She was glad he was dead.

Her horse followed Wolf Shadow’s without any urging. Winter
Rain huddled deeper into her sleeping robe. It did little to keep her dry, but
it did protect her from the wind, all but her hands, which were soon numb with
cold from holding onto the reins.

She couldn’t imagine how much colder Wolf Shadow must be,
clad in nothing but his clout and moccasins.

They had ridden about two miles when the moon peeked through
a break in the clouds and she saw the body of another Crow warrior lying in the
mud. Had Wolf Shadow killed all the sentries? Or only those on this side of the
village?

They rode steadily onward, always keeping the river, which
was now a swirling mass of rushing water, on their right. From time to time, a
flash of brilliant lightning illuminated their way, but there was nothing to
see but tall prairie grass flattened by the storm and cottonwood trees swaying
in the wind.

Winter Rain huddled deeper into her robe. She was cold, so
cold. She thought fleetingly of the cozy fire in Blackbird-in-the-Morning’s
lodge and for the briefest of moments, she was tempted to turn around and go
back. But the moment of weakness passed quickly. She could endure the cold and
the rain; she couldn’t endure not knowing whether Mountain Sage and Eagle Lance
were dead or alive.

They kept the horses at a steady walk all that night,
stopping only briefly to let the animals rest.

It wasn’t until late morning that Wolf Shadow judged it was
safe to stop and make camp. The rain, which had lessened as the night wore on,
had finally stopped. A short time later the sun burned away the last of the
clouds.

Dismounting, Winter Rain leaned against her horse’s
shoulder. She was cold and wet and chilled to the bone. There was no dry wood
to be found. Spreading her sleeping robe over a bush, she lifted her face up to
the sun and let its warmth wash over her.

Wolf Shadow removed his rifle from the saddle boot. He had
taken the weapon from one of the Crow sentries. Propping the rifle against a
tree, he stripped the rigging from Smoke and spread the saddle blanket on the
bush beside Winter Rain’s sleeping robe.

“We’ll rest here for the day.” He thrust the
parfleche
into her hand, then took her horse’s reins and led the horses a short distance
away. Using a couple of pieces of rope he had pulled from his saddlebags, he
fashioned two pairs of hobbles, then removed the bridles from the horses and
left them to graze on the lush green grass.

Winter Rain sat down on a flat rock and rummaged through the
parfleche,
withdrawing jerky and pemmican. She handed a piece of each to
Wolf Shadow, who accepted them with a grunt and sat down beside her.

She glanced over at him. They had hardly spoken to each
other since they left the Crow village.

Chance looked up and met her gaze. “What?”

“We are going back to our village, are we not?” she asked.

He nodded. Like Winter Rain, he was anxious to find out
whether his loved ones had survived the Crow attack.

In spite of the sun, they were both shivering. Chance
swallowed the last of his pemmican, then slid his arm around Winter Rain’s
shoulders.

She looked at him, her eyes wide. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t know about you, but I’m colder than a witch’s…” He
checked himself. “Let’s just say I’m mighty damn cold.”

She stared at him a moment, then, noticing how much warmer
she was where her body was pressed to his, she scooted a little closer, all too
aware of the long muscular length of his leg against her own. Gradually, she
grew warmer. He, too, was shivering less now. She lifted her cold, clammy skirt
from her legs a little, thinking she would be warmer without her tunic but the
thought of being naked in front of Wolf Shadow was more than she could bear.
She was acutely conscious of his presence beside her. His slightest move set
her nerves aflutter. There was a strength about him, an inner core of
confidence and assurance that was exceptionally attractive, especially now,
when her survival depended on him.